


God Save the Queen

by a_kline



Category: Glee
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_kline/pseuds/a_kline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything is just a copy of a copy in your life anyway, how do you know if you've fallen down the rabbit hole or are just merely dreaming? Rachel wonders if Quinn knows what's going on inside of her own head, and whether or not she can pull her out from underneath the mad hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Don't You Start At the Beginning?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedisassociation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything is just a copy of a copy in your life anyway, how do you know if you've fallen down the rabbit hole or are just merely dreaming? Rachel wonders if Quinn knows what's going on inside of her own head, and whether or not she can pull her out from underneath the mad hat.

There had to have been at least a dozen ways to describe the color pink in that moment. The texture, the cut, the style; hell, Rachel could have even told you the taste of the color. The taste of pink was some cheap alcohol and the smell of pink was cigarette smoke, apparently. It lingered in the air as Quinn walked by, head held high and tattoo exposed. While everyone gaped at the former head cheerleader's transformation, Rachel Berry gazed at Quinn. It was a simple enough act, and one she had admittedly done a hundred times before. 

The rumors over summer had done nothing to squelch Rachel's undying curiosity about the girl. Was she okay? Was she really dating that older skater? Had that incident with her father actually happened? It really wasn't as if Rachel could pick up the phone and just call Quinn. The fact that Quinn's number was securely in her contacts made no difference in the matter. Rachel and Quinn never spoke for the sake of speaking. They were incapable of sharing an air of indifference between each other. For them it was all or nothing. And when they couldn't share a knowing glance during glee club, that's when words became necessary. They were always strong words full of meaning, and words they could never say to anyone but each other. 

But they weren't friends. Rachel and Quinn were never friends. Which is exactly why Rachel couldn't pick up her cell phone over the summer between junior and senior year to call Quinn. They didn't work like that. Instead, Rachel gazed at Quinn while everyone gaped, and Quinn pretended to ignore Rachel. Like always. Rachel was okay with that, however, because the act of pretending took effort, and if Quinn was putting in effort to do something towards Rachel, well, that was something. Effort was better than nothing, and nothing was what Rachel had gotten all summer. 

Tina, Mike, and Mercedes caught Rachel's eye across the hall and looked equally as confused. One unspoken question hung in the air: what in the hell happened to Quinn Fabray over the summer? Rachel held her head a little higher and shot the group her best-patented Rachel Berry Gold Star smile. If anyone in that club—well, school—were to find out what had happened to Quinn Fabray, it would most certainly be one Rachel Berry.  
\----------------------------------------

_I need a cigarette._

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "Quinn!" Ronnie said harshly, "Do you want a friggan light or not?"

_Come on, Alice, give me a cigarette._

Quinn sighed and opened her eyes. The cigarette was sitting loosely on Quinn's bottom lip when she nodded. A lighter was held in front of her face and she closed her eyes against the burn of the first inhale. She pulled a second, longer drag. Her eyes closed and the smoke left her parted lips in a sigh of relief. "Thanks," Quinn said, nodding briskly at her friend. Well, not her friend. She didn't exactly have friends, but at least she was part of a group again. Even if they defined themselves as skanks, it was still better than being alone. Her combat boots crunched against the sand under the bleachers as she moved to lean against the chain link fence. "We're not lighting anything else on fire today, are we?" Quinn asked, her hand dropping to her side, cigarette between her first and middle fingers.

"Nah," Sheila said, her attention on stuffing an empty glass bottle full of sand for some reason. "I think we're bailing out of here at lunch today." 

Quinn arched an eyebrow at that. It was one thing to throw ketchup-covered tampons off the roof at people and to keep up with the pink hair dye, but ditching class was another thing. Despite everything, Quinn couldn't shake her need to keep her GPA up. "Why not just leave now?" 

"Hey, good plan, Pinky," Sheila said, dropping the bottle onto the ground with a loud crash of shattered glass. "We'll catch ya on the flip side, then." 

Eyebrows briefly rose in acknowledgment as the three other Skanks left Quinn to herself and her thoughts. The cigarette was burning down to the filter quicker than usual and she had almost forgotten to flick the ash away. After one more drag, Quinn dropped the cigarette into the sand and crushed it under her boot. She turned and her eyebrows rose once more, giving away her surprise, but her lips parted calmly, allowing the smoke to escape. "What are you doing here?" 

Rachel had appeared just as the three other girls had walked away. Her presence had remained unknown to Quinn as she watched her smoke on that cancer stick. Until Quinn had turned around, that is, catching Rachel's somber eyes. "This is your free period, is it not?" When Quinn merely shifted her weight, folded her arms, and stared blandly back at Rachel, she took that as a yes. "Well, since I obviously don't make it a habit of hanging out underneath the school bleachers during class, I'm sure it's rather obvious that I'm here because I was looking for you, Quinn." 

"That took you thirty more words to say than it would have taken a normal person," Quinn commented. 

"I could argue that a normal person wouldn't count the number of words one says in a sentence," Rachel responded. 

"I never claimed to be normal," Quinn shot back, her lips staying parted in a silent scoff as she brushed past Rachel, making sure to bump shoulders with her as she passed. 

"I heard about what happened to you over the summer," Rachel called after her, bluffing. 

Quinn stopped dead in her tracks. Hazel eyes narrowed, piercing the air like a knife as she whipped around to glare daggers into Rachel's back. "Liar," she snarled out, running a hand through her neon pink hair. "Don't make a habit of sticking your nose into my business, Rachel. You might not like what you find." 

_Finders keepers, losers weepers._

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm here for you, Quinn," Rachel said, turning now to face Quinn instead of speaking over her shoulder. "For whenever you're ready to come back. Whenever you're ready to admit that this-" she cut off, gesturing to Quinn's appearance, "-isn't the answer to whatever problem you're trying to overcome. Just remember that you're not alone in this, Quinn." Rachel nodded her head once, biting her lip. She dropped her gaze and walked back towards the school building.  
Quinn's mind was loud and she was developing another headache. Alone? No. "No," Quinn mumbled to herself with a bitter smile, "I'm never alone anymore." 

\-----------------------------------------

"I'm home," Quinn called out, dropping her backpack by the front door. Using her boot, she kicked the door closed and scanned the empty foyer of her house. There was no one home. Quinn rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen. "How was my day? Oh, not bad. I didn't shove any heads down any toilets and I even got an A on my math test," Quinn said to herself. Not that Quinn Fabray wasn't used to being home alone since her mother was out God-knows-where with her newfound singularity. Still, sometimes the whole "being alone" thing really just sort of sucked. 

_No one asked about your day. But please, do carry on; I haven't had a good nap in a while._

Quinn dropped the sandwich ingredients she had in her hand in favor of getting some Tylenol from the cabinet. "Shut up," she said aloud, craning her neck to the side in an attempt to loosen her stiff muscles. Her mind would not stop screaming at her and her head was pounding. "God, I need something to shut you up," Quinn mumbled, one hand fumbling with the pill bottle as the other raked roughly through her hair. Quinn tried to focus her sharp eyes on the bottle that she distinctly remembered having an easier time opening that morning. Right then, however, the childproof lock seemed about as daunting as a padlock that Quinn didn't know the combination for. 

_Push down, turn right._

"Push down, shut up," Quinn bit out. The pill bottle opened and she choked down three pills dry. 

Bright spots in her peripherals made Quinn push her fingertips into her closed eyes. Too late. Her food and prior conversation with herself had been forgotten as Quinn stumbled into the living room and dropped face first into the Victorian styled couch her mom was so proud of. Her lipstick and mascara left marks in the pillow and her boots left streaks of mud on the couch arm. Quinn's eyes squeezed closed tightly as she tried to fight off the migraine, groaning out of frustration.  
____________________

The next day Quinn was lying on that same couch at that same time of day. Only, this time she was on her back and she had taken her muddy boots off. Her bare feet were crossed at the ankles, hanging off the edge of the couch, and Quinn's head was hanging off the other side. A cigarette hung loosely in her lips. Someone once convinced her that smoking was the best cure for the residual day-after pain of a migraine, but Quinn couldn't for the life of her remember who had said that. It didn't really matter, anyway.  
She stared up at the smoke playing against the white of the ceiling as she exhaled. A smile played on her lips as she watched it swirl in front of her face. Little designs spurred from her imagination started taking shape in the excess smoke. A rabbit hopped in a circle, entertaining Quinn for a few seconds before the doorbell interrupted her. 

"Go away," she mumbled under her breath. Her feet dropped to the floor with a thunk and she flicked some ashes into her soda can before walking to the door. 

"Hello, Quinn." 

"Aren't you supposed to be in glee?" Quinn asked, leaning against the doorway and blowing some smoke in Rachel's direction. 

Rachel closed her eyes against the puff of smoke and sighed through her nose. The bland expression on her face did nothing to wipe away the seemingly perpetual amused look in Quinn's eyes. "Normally, yes, I would be in glee right now. However, Santana approached me before and quite unceremoniously handed me this package and told me to deliver it to you because she had…other priorities," Rachel said, clearing her throat. She thought back to how Santana had smirked at her before heading off with Brittany to Barbra-knows-where. 

Quinn hadn't even noticed the small, wrapped up brown, paper bag clutched in Rachel's hands. With a roll of her eyes, she took the package from Rachel and scoffed out, "Yeah, by other priorities she means her girlfriend." 

"I'm aware," Rachel said, looking uncomfortable. Rachel often feared she would never get used to Santana's blatant comments about her sex life. She was as bad as Noah Puckerman was, so it was no wonder they got along so well. "Although, I'm not sure why she made me do it, except that I was the only one within eyesight when Brittany came down the hall," Rachel added. 

"Yeah, sure, that's it," Quinn mumbled, inspecting the contents of the bag. When she looked up, Quinn caught Rachel's curious gaze. Surprisingly, the girl hadn't opened the bag before bringing it to Quinn. "It's my medicine," Quinn explained, "We go through Santana to get it because her dad gets us a really good discount since he's a doctor and stuff. And he was the one who—" Quinn cut herself off, realizing she had started to say too much. "Anyway, thanks." 

Rachel's eyes studied Quinn intently. Memories of the rumors over the summer plagued her thoughts. Apparently, something had happened to Quinn, but what did she need medicine for? "May I ask-?" 

"No," Quinn interrupted, softly laughing. "No, you may not ask. Thank you for bringing this by, Rachel." 

Rachel's eyebrows raised, perfectly unperturbed, before she said, "Your cigarette seems to have burned down." 

Quinn immediately looked down to the cigarette between her fingers. The paper had almost completely burned down to the filter and Quinn sighed. Wasted cigarette. Of course it had been Rachel who had distracted her from finishing it. When Quinn looked up to get angry with said girl, Rachel was just getting into her car to leave. 

Quinn pursed her lips, her gaze lingering on Rachel before she turned and kicked the door shut. 

_You know those pills put you to sleep. Why not just have another cigarette?_

"Shut up," Quinn said absently, already working on twisting off the lid to her medicine. 

_Maybe you're already dreaming. Hallucinating. Rachel left a little too easy for this to be reality._

Quinn paused mid-swallow. The bitter pill was slowly melting on her tongue and the glass of water was chilling her fingers. Was she dreaming? Was she even really taking this pill? 

"You're just trying to screw me up again," Quinn stated after a minute of thought. "Shut up." Her thoughts quieted down. 

Quinn sighed in relief and ran a hand through her hair, messing up the already untidy pink strands. The paper bag crinkled loudly while pulling out three pill bottles and setting them on the wooden counter. In order of when to take them: antidepressant, migraine medicine, emergency anxiety medicine. The doctor had lectured her on not taking her antidepressant at the same time as the migraine medicine, and not to take them in the middle of the day because it would cause drowsiness. Quinn distinctly remembered telling him she didn't give a shit because she couldn't sleep anyway. 

While her language had cleared up a little, Quinn still couldn't sleep well. She popped both pills in and swallowed them down. Despite her brain telling her she wouldn't be able to do it, Quinn fell asleep on the couch not long after. 

\--------------------------------------------

Rachel had no idea what a lug nut was or which way to rotate a wrench. Finn did, however, and that was undoubtedly why he was the mechanic. "Bigger wrench," Finn mumbled, the only visible part of him being boots knocking together from underneath the car. Rachel bent down, avoiding getting grease on her yellow dress, and handed him the bigger wrench. 

They did this. At the beginning she had enjoyed it; Rachel perched on the toolbox and Finn in his dirty uniform under a car. 

There had been something innately quintessential in Rachel—the fair maiden—assisting Finn—the dirty mechanic—in his job. However, somewhere between grease-smudged noses and Rachel almost losing a finger in a fan belt, the practice lost its charm. Rachel's mind tended to wander now, and she started dropping screws and frustrating Finn. They kept up the ritual, however, because it was one of the few things that they had left as a couple. More often than not, however, her mind was on glee rehearsals or NYA DA applications. That particular day her thoughts were on an absent member of glee and delivered medications. 

"Finn," Rachel questioned, "Is it accurate to say that you rarely speak to Quinn nowadays?" Finn rolled out from underneath the car on the creeper and raised an eyebrow at Rachel. "Don't worry, Finn, I'm not accusing you of anything. I just—Don't you think her new look is a bit odd? A tad out of character?" 

"Sure," Finn agreed, "I mean, it's really drastic but after all of the crap last year I think-" 

"No," Rachel interrupted softly, shaking her head, "All that she did at the end of last semester was cut her hair, and Santana was the one who did that for her. But this just seems worrisome. Didn't something happen to her over the summer? Something involving her-?" 

"Rachel, stop," Finn mumbled. He wiped his hands on a dirty rag and moved to stand in front of Rachel, gazing down at her. "I know how you love to help everyone in glee, and I really love that about you, you know that. I just don't think you should touch this one. Quinn will come around. She'll come back to glee once she realizes how lame those Skanks are. Just…don't pressure her." 

Rachel sighed through her nose and allowed Finn to kiss her softly. So be it. Two out of two people had told her not to stick her nose in Quinn's business, so the third time just had to be a charm. 

"I know that look," Finn said evenly, his eyes on Rachel. She had her eye-roll prepared, but Finn's cell phone ringing interrupted their impending argument. 

"Hey," Finn mumbled, eyes on Rachel. Rachel watched his eyes widen before he mumbled a hasty, "Okay, on my way." 

"Where are you going?" Rachel questioned, curiosity perked. 

"Santana's tires were slashed. Gotta get Burt and head over to pick up her car. She's pissed." 

Rachel bit her lip and watched Finn run off. Well, if she were a tad more aggressive and uninhibited in her actions, Rachel would have slashed Santana's tires as well if given the chance. But this could be her golden opportunity, and Rachel Berry was never one to pass those up. 

\----------------------------------------------

"Quinn!" Quinn jolted awake, sitting up ramrod straight in her bed. Her brow furrowed and she ran a hand through her knotted hair. Hadn't she fallen asleep on the couch? 

"Quinn!" 

"What, mom?" Quinn yelled back, wincing against the throbbing of her head. Perpetual headache. Her mother's unnerving silence as a response gave Quinn a brief moment to wake up. Assess. Boots caked in mud. Heavy jacket on. Throbbing headache. 

Bedroom door being slammed open. "Oh," Quinn whispered, defeated. Judy Fabray, Quinn's fake-pearl wearing mother, stood in the doorway. Her ruined doormat hung from her hands and she gestured at the ruined carpet for Quinn to see. 

"What have you done this time?" Judy asked, quietly, as if the cops were outside waiting to take Quinn away and could hear her every word. 

"I don't know," Quinn claimed, her voice cracking with tears. The generic ringtone on Quinn's cell phone startled both women, and Quinn pulled it out of her jacket pocket. 

Santana's name flashed across her screen. Her finger hovered over the answer button, mainly because the flash of a switchblade caught her eye from her night stand that Quinn hadn't known she'd had. What had she done? 

\---------------------------------------------

"Split personality disorder?" Rachel asked in confusion. 

"Dissociative identity disorder." Santana leaned back in her chair. 

Rachel's forearms leaned on the Lopez dining room table and her hands were clasped tightly. "Isn't that a form of Schizophrenia? I didn't think that disorder actually existed." 

Santana rolled her eyes and dropped all four chair legs back onto the floor. "Haven't you ever seen Fight Club, Berry?" Rachel arched an eyebrow and Santana's look turned serious. "Listen, I'm only going to explain this once, and I want to get it done before Finnocence comes back. My dad was the one who treated her when she came in. There was a giant trauma. Like, we're talking shit that would put other people into an insane clinic. Quinn has a different type of brain, though. She started going to therapy when her mom started noticing the weird behavior." 

"Like the pink hair?" 

"Like, worse," Santana bit out. "I'm not going to get into details here, mainly because I don't know all of them. The therapist spent most of the summer with her and then they did some testing. You know, serious shit, like electroencephalogram tracings." Rachel didn't know what that was and she highly doubted Santana did, either. "It's the best diagnosis anyone can come up with, and it's the one that makes most sense. There's two people in Quinn's head now, Berry." 

"That's what the medicine is for?" Rachel asked, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs underneath the table. 

"No," Santana returned, as if it should have been obvious. "There's no medicine for this. Half of the professional medical field won't even acknowledge it as an actual disorder. Her medicine is for depression and migraines. The cure is supposed to be therapy, but she…." Rachel leaned in closer to Santana. This felt like a horror movie and at any moment the dramatic violin concerto would start up. "She's getting worse," Santana finally mumbled. Her eyes dropped and Rachel saw how uncomfortable this was making Santana. Or perhaps that was sadness she was portraying. Rachel could never tell the differences between Santana's emotions since she always looked so uncomfortable portraying them. 

"Thank you for telling me," Rachel said softly. 

"I'm only telling you because you promised me cigs and Quinn's being a bitch now, anyway. It's not like it's my job to keep her secrets. Whatever. Will you leave it alone now?" Santana snapped, raising her hardened eyes. "And don't tell anyone. Not that I care, but my dad would kill me. Quinn probably would, too. No one else knows this, and the only reason I do is because I read through my dad's work files." 

"I won't tell anybody," Rachel promised. The front door opened and Finn's footsteps were heard coming in. They must have finished fixing her tires and brought the car back. Rachel leaned forward even more and Santana perked an eyebrow. "I'll bring you the cigars you demanded in exchange for the information, however I still highly discourage you from partaking in that hazardous habit." 

"And I highly discourage you from partaking in being a Hobbit, but we don't see you listening to me, now do we?" Santana snapped back. Her eyes rolled and Finn walked into the room with a tired smile. 

"Your tires are good as new, Santana. Rachel, come on, I'll take you home. It's awesome to see you guys didn't like, kill each other. I admit, I was a little surprised and sorta skeptical when you said you'd rather hang here then go home when Burt and I made the emergency run here, but you guys are sort of cool, huh?" Rachel and Santana simply avoided eye contact as Rachel got up to leave.

\--------------------------------------------

One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One pattern repeated twelve times every minute, repeated seven-hundred and twenty times every hour. Seven-hundred and twenty times later, it was two a.m. Quinn was sitting on the edge of her bed. The punk hair was a stark contrast to the baby-blue tank top and blue flannel pajama set she had on. But this was Quinn, and Quinn liked light colors. 

One, two, three, four, five. Another minute passed. Concentrated hazel eyes were trained on the white, analogue clock that hung on her bedroom wall. When her mother insisted she put it in her room, at eight and not yet able to even read it, Quinn had no idea what a godsend it would end up being. Her mind tended to wander, to put it lightly, and so one night Quinn developed this hobby. If she counted every second, every pattern of five, it was mind-numbing. There were no interruptions, nothing to distract her, and no sleepiness to throw her off. So, Quinn counted the time. She counted it as her time; her time to use her mind the way she desired. Counting the time was Quinn's sanctuary, and she could always return to it when she felt like she wasn't herself anymore. However, it was only a matter of time until drowsiness would wear her out. You couldn't use your brain so tirelessly without having some repercussions. 

"Quinn." Quinn arched an eyebrow but kept counting her seconds. 

"Quinn? Hello?" No. Quinn refused to leave her sanctuary. 

"Quinn!" 

"What?" Quinn snapped, tearing her eyes from the clock in her 6th period class. Quinn's expression darkened and her eyebrows knitted together, forming a deep crease in her forehead. When had she gotten here? Last she recalled she was sitting in her bedroom, and now school was over? 

"Sorry," Tina said, sounding more uneasy than apologetic, "I didn't mean to scare you but you were sort of spacing and class ended five minutes ago."  
Quinn looked up at Tina and managed a smile. To say she was used to time lapses, missing pieces of memory, would be an understatement. They still always managed to throw her for a loop, though. "Thanks, Tina. Haven't been sleeping much lately." Tina tried to say something about glee club, something to bring Quinn back, but Quinn was already five steps ahead and out of the classroom door. 

_We had fun today._

Quinn's right eye winced and she tried to ignore the whispering in her ear. Or, the whispering in her mind. She could never peg exactly where the voice was coming from. What it said made her uneasy, though. While her disorder was still somewhat new to her, Quinn knew it well enough to understand she would be having to face some repercussion soon enough for something she'd done. Well, not something Quinn had done, but Quinn would get blamed. Quinn was always blamed. 

"I hope you're happy," snapped a voice from behind her. 

Quinn closed her eyes and looked pained as she turned around. The softness in her eyes didn't match the black, ripped t- shirt that bore a picture of some punk logo. Quinn didn't even know what it stood for. "What do I have to be happy about, Kurt?" 

Kurt turned his nose up at Quinn, practically baring his teeth. "You almost ruined her chances! Do you know how long it took her to find the perfect dress to audition for this play in? I thought you were passed the whole immature slushying days, but clearly you're just as bad as you used to be," Kurt hissed. It was only when he walked away did 

Quinn notice the odd costume attire Kurt had on. 

Two and two were suddenly put together as Quinn remembered hearing something the other day about auditions for the senior musical at McKinley. So, she slushied someone trying out for it. Someone who is close to Kurt. Someone who would actually put hours of time into finding something perfect to wear for an audition.  
Quinn groaned inwardly and pulled her backpack higher onto her shoulders. Even when she wasn't herself, she still somehow managed to torment Rachel. 

"Quinn!" 

"What now?" Quinn mumbled, turning to face Santana. Her head felt like it was about to rip open from the searing headache she had, so it wasn't in Quinn's best interest to get into a fight with her best friend–ex-best friend – Santana. But when Quinn's head slammed into the nearest locker due to an exuberant push from Santana, red flashed in front of Quinn's eyes. Her mood shifted in a heartbeat and flashbacks of swinging fists and shattering glass filled her senses. 

_Hit her._

Quinn's eyes were closed as she took a moment to catch her breath. When her eyes snapped open again, she saw Santana's hand coming down onto her. Hit her! Quinn winced against the voice in her head, but obeyed. It was right, anyway. Her reaction needed to be to fight back, not take it. Not again. Quinn's right fist swung out and made contact with Santana's jaw. 

"Shit!" Santana cried out, falling backwards after not having expected the attack. "You bitch," she seethed, getting up onto shaky feet. A small crowd had gathered, but no teachers had arrived. It was after school, anyway, so they didn't care. 

"I'm the bitch?" Quinn snapped back. Her blood was rushing and she knew she was close to losing control. Quinn had mood swings before the summer incident, but now they were worse. It was like someone else entirely took control. Quinn almost laughed at that, but she gritted her teeth instead. "You're the one that just slammed me into a locker." 

"You're the one who slashed my tires!" Santana bit, standing up and lunging at Quinn again. 

"Stop!" Rachel ran into view in what looked like a period gown with Brittany hot on her trail. "Santana, don't!" She called out again, immediately running in between the two fuming girls. "That's Quinn!" 

"Back off, Rachel," Santana snapped. Brittany laid a hand on Santana's shoulder and she reluctantly softened. "She's the one who slashed my tires! Do you not understand how much I loves my car?" 

"I didn't touch your car," Quinn spat out. Now that the group of onlookers had dispersed and Brittany and Rachel were standing between them, Quinn could think clearly again. "You called me that night to ask, remember? I was home. I had just woken up -" Quinn blanched. She had woken up with muddy boots and a switchblade near her that night. 

Realization dawned in Santana's eyes and she let out a Spanish expletive when she realized she couldn't get mad at Quinn for something Quinn hadn't technically done. Brittany kept her hands on Santana, just in case, but her blue eyes were curious as she looked to Quinn in confusion.

Rachel stood nearest Quinn. Quinn could still see some faint, light streaks of blue in her hair from the slushy that Quinn had undoubtedly had in her hand only hours before. While that bothered her, the thing that bothered Quinn the most was the way Rachel was looking up at her sympathetically. "What did you mean when you told Santana 'that's Quinn', Rachel?" Quinn asked, her voice dangerously low. 

Rachel's eyes widened, blinking, and her mouth hung open slightly. Quinn drank in how noticeably taken aback Rachel was by the question. Then she became scared, because the only person who knew about what had happened to her was Santana. Just Santana. But, the way Santana stepped up behind Rachel protectively made Quinn question whether or not Santana was still the only person who knew. Out of anyone who would be able to weasel information about Quinn out of Santana, it would be Rachel. Rachel fucking Berry. "Back off, Q," Santana said quietly, shaking her head. "Rachel was just trying to help. Stop being so frickin' paranoid."  


When Quinn's hazel eyes rolled from Santana down to Rachel, Rachel realized she didn't recognize the person behind them anymore.


	2. Yes, and When You Reach the End, Stop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything is just a copy of a copy in your life anyway, how do you know if you've fallen down the rabbit hole or are just merely dreaming? Rachel wonders if Quinn knows what's going on inside of her own head, and whether or not she can pull her out from underneath the mad hat.

One would think that Rachel Berry would have potentially feared for her life when Quinn got word that she might have know about her "condition". Condition being the understatement of the century. But a few weeks later, one Rachel Berry was indeed fearing for her life. Maybe it wasn't fair to Quinn, but Rachel was avoiding her like the plague. Or like how she would avoid a slaughter house ̶fastidiously and quite discreetly. Unfortunately, that left her avoiding the main McKinley thoroughfares. For example, the cafeteria at lunch time. Not to say that was necessarily a bad thing since the short, argyle dress Rachel was sporting that day didn't protect her from the chilly, autumn drafts that came from the open doors of the cafeteria, anyway. Rachel knew the choir room was the superior choice. 

Rachel did _not_ know that Santana and Brittany were going to be in there as well, however, or else she wouldn't have stormed in there with her lunch bag in hand. Their hands were clasped tightly in the open space between their chairs and their knees were brushing as Santana spoke quietly to Brittany. When Rachel walked in, both Cheerios looked over at her; Santana looked angry at the interruption, but her angry looks didn't have quite the impact on Rachel that they once had. 

"Come in, hobbit," Santana said indifferently once she saw it was Rachel. "You should hear this too."

"While I appreciate the invite, I do not wish to partake in hearing about your sexual escapades," Rachel said, turning to leave.

"Get in here and sit your rude ass down, Berry," Santana snapped. Normally Rachel wouldn't oblige for Santana’s behavior, but her curiosity was peaked. Really, what would Santana have to tell her that would involve both she and Brittany?

With a quick glance towards Brittany, whose confused look reassured Rachel that she wasn't the only one in the dark, she walked over and took the seat facing the girls. Santana's eyes were on Rachel's hands as she began pulling out her lunch from the paper bag she had brought in with her. "It's about Quinn," Santana finally said, giving Rachel a stern look and turning a much softer look on her girlfriend. 

"San doesn't want me to hang out with her unless she's around," Brittany said despairingly. "I don't think that's fair. You can't tell me who I can and can't hang out with, and Quinn's my friend."

"Was," Santana amended, her eyes burning as she looked into Brittany's. "Was your friend, Brittany. You know she isn't right in the head anymore. I explained to you that she had an accident. You saw what she dids to my car, Britt. You've seen her and heard her talk. She's not mentally stable and I don't want you around her, it's dangerous," Santana finished, pointedly looking at Brittany and then to Rachel. "You either. I don't want to be at fault for her killing you or something because I told you about her and you had to get all nosy."

"Santana, you're being a controllist," Brittany said through a pout.

Santana's eyebrows shot up and Rachel sighed. "Did Finn teach you that word? Because it's still not a real word, I'm sorry to say," Rachel said, frowning herself when she saw Brittany's face drop.

"I don't care what's a word or not," Santana bit out, clenching her fists tightly. "What I do care about is you staying away from Quinn. Gets it? Gots it? Good."

"Not that your vapid concern isn't flattering," Rachel said, offering Brittany half of her apple slices when she saw her blue eyes studying them before continuing, "but I've already been wholeheartedly avoiding Quinn. Her condition is intriguing to say the least, but the way she looked at me that day in the hallway mildly terrified me so I figured it best to stay away from her."

"Yeah, I know," Santana deadpanned. "I saw it on your Twitter." 

"You follow my Twitter?"

"I'm the person who retweets you and adds both genius and insulting comments."

"Ah, Etheridge n' cigars, I should have known that was you."

"My point being," Santana bit out, her eyes flicking to Brittany as she took the rest of Rachel's lunch, "if I knew what you were doing because of your Twitter then Quinn does too. She actually follows you and doesn't retweet or make fun. Which, actually, I've always thought was really weird. But still. I'm serious, Berry, stay away from Quinn. If she had some weird fascination with you before the accident, I don't want to know what it's like now." Santana had a sternly serious look on her face, so Rachel decided not to deliberately rile her up. With a nod, Rachel wordlessly affirmed that she understood. 

\------------------------------------

"Rachel," a scratchy voice addressed her from behind. Rachel's hand stilled in her locker and her other tightened around her backpack strap. Quick check of backpack inventory: Literature book, The Great Gatsby, three song books, a full water bottle, and her pencil case. That would make the backpack heavy enough to knock a person down if need be. 

"Quinn," Rachel acknowledged. She pulled out the book her fingers had been about to wrap around when Quinn's presence had startled her. Quinn seemed content to wait, however, while Rachel put her pink binder into her backpack, zipped it up, and then shut her locker door before facing her. Rachel's eyes widened a little; she didn't think she'd ever get used to how bright Quinn's hair was. It looked good, fitting, but oddly perturbing at the moment. "How can I help you?"

Quinn's honed hazel eyes looked less golden and more green as they stared intently into Rachel's own eyes. Sickly green. They matched the slow, Cheshire grin that played across Quinn's features and Rachel realized she wasn't dealing with Quinn. But it was after school and most people were paying more attention to leaving than to Rachel Berry potentially being bullied again. Or murdered. 

"Long time no see," she said, her voice low as she stood in Rachel's personal space. 

Rachel noticeably gulped and nodded. "Yes, well, I've been quite busy with-" 

"Avoiding me?" 

Rachel froze. She tilted her head back enough to better look into the burning eyes. Rachel Berry was no coward. But Rachel Berry also was no idiot, and she didn't want to die that day. Not when she hadn't even had the current draft of her will finalized yet. Still, her curiosity got the best of her, as it often did, and she couldn't help herself. "Who are you?" Rachel whispered. Quinn's head was angled towards Rachel's, and her body was close enough that the interaction could have been misconstrued for intimate if it weren't for the fact that Rachel was 90% sure she was about to be maimed. 

Quinn's smile merely grew, however, and she breathed out a laugh. "Quinn said you were smart, but I didn't believe it until now," she said. "I had my doubts when you posted on Twitter about how you were avoiding me. Well, her. I don't think you would avoid me since this is the first time we're being introduced." 

"'Introduced’ implies a third party is present and I only see the two of us. Am I wrong?”

God, that Cheshire grin went on for days.

Rachel broke out in goosebumps. Where was Santana when she needed her? Where was her _boyfriend?_ Never there when she needed him. Rachel couldn't even put on a brave face in that moment if she wanted to. She was two parts curious and one part terrified. So, Santana had been right. Quinn was certainly acting as if she had Dissociative Identity Disorder, but Rachel remained skeptical. "Then I suppose it would do you well to introduce yourself to me since you apparently sought me out to do so," Rachel stated as firmly as she could. 

Quinn, who was apparently not Quinn, didn't seem fazed. Her smile never faltered. "I am the queen," she responded, coupling the response with a single-shouldered shrug. 

Rachel's mouth curved into a look that showed she didn't quite understand what Quinn had said. "Pardon?" 

Quinn raised an intimidating eyebrow that made Rachel wish the lockers weren't directly behind her. Nowhere to flee. "I am the queen. You may call me Queen. Isn't this how introductions go, Rachel?" 

Rachel's jaw went slack and she had to bite back a laugh. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to call you Queen, Quinn," Rachel said, letting out a scoff of a laugh. 

Quinn's eyes darkened impossibly more and she took an intimidating step towards the much smaller girl. Rachel's back pushed against the lockers in a failed retreat. "Never call me Quinn," she bit out through clenched teeth. "If you cannot handle calling me by my true name, then I'll think of a new name for you as well. But never, ever, call me Quinn." 

Rachel stared deep into her eyes and suddenly wished more than anything that it was Quinn she was speaking with. 

"Can I call you Q?" she asked, her voice small, yet hopeful. 

The demeanor around Q changed noticeably, and she took a step back as that grin returned. "You certainly may. I'll get back to you on my nickname for you," she said lowly. On that final note, Q turned and headed down the school hallway. Rachel stood still for a few moments before shaking her head, clearing her thoughts, and letting out a sigh. That wasn't Quinn. That had been someone else entirely. 

\---------------------------

"You need to leave her alone," Santana snapped, slamming Quinn's locker in her face. 

"I thought we got over doing that to each other in sophomore year," Quinn said, sighing while reopening her locker. "And, again, I don't know what you're talking about, Santana." 

Santana hissed through gritted teeth and studied Quinn's eyes. "Damn it." 

"Not the person you were looking for, I take it?" Quinn responded. The bags under her eyes weren't concealed enough by her cover-up and her tone leaked exhaustion. Sleep hadn't come easy the night before, and she had no recollection of the day. It was maddening and Quinn was getting really tired of being alone through this. Well, alone everywhere except in her own mind. 

"Do you know when she's coming back?" Santana questioned. Quinn could tell by her facial expression after she asked that it felt odd to ask; almost taboo to speak aloud. Quinn paused, turned to Santana, and studied her face. And then she started laughing. 

"God, Quinn, you're so fucking fucked up," Santana said right before joining in on the laughter. Quinn shut her locker and turned to fully face Santana, smiling at the general craziness of the moment. Of what she and Santana had become. Santana pulled her varsity Cheerio jacket a little closer to herself and glanced down at her shoes. Her eyes glazed over in thought and Quinn felt a tug in her chest. 

“What did I say to Brittany to warrant the locker slam?" Her question was soft, and there was an uncharacteristically concerned look on her face that seemed to highly contrast her dark attire. 

Santana's head snapped up and her expression darkened. Santana in protection mode was like staring into the eyes of a cobra. Some sense seemed to be knocked back into Santana when she remembered Quinn hadn't confronted Brittany ̶she'd confronted Rachel. "Rachel," Santana mumbled, glancing around the halls to make sure no one overheard them. "I meant Rachel." 

Quinn immediately averted her eyes and ran a hand through her messy hair. She dropped her backpack by her feet and sighed heavily. "What did she say to her?" The question came out almost guttural, embarrassingly resigned, a dejected whisper. And her eyes were on everything but Santana's eyes. 

"Fuck if I know," Santana admitted. "She came into glee looking like she'd seen a ghost, sat down by Finn, and refused to participate in practice. Quinn you can't let your little, you know, roll over to the ‘new’ you," Santana air quoted. 

"I thought we agreed to never bring that up again," Quinn snapped, her eyes finally meeting Santana's. 

"I never agreed to that," Santana said, shrugging, "But I don't want your other you hurting her. I suggest-" 

"I'm getting a headache," Quinn suddenly announced. 

Santana rolled her eyes and Quinn momentarily got the urge to gouge those eyes out. She closed her eyes tightly and pushed back the angry feelings that were bubbling to the surface. Her fingers were starting to tingle and her head was starting to throb. Step one. Quinn didn't have much time to get home before her full blown migraine would hit. The dark time. "Look," Quinn started, enunciating the word astoundingly clear through gritted teeth, "I'm not the person you need to talk about this with. If you want me to stay away from your precious girlfriend and your precious Berry, I suggest speaking to me later." 

Santana opened her mouth to shoot back an angry rebuttal, but Quinn was already storming down the hall, knocking a freshman into his locker in her wake. 

\------------------------------

Whether it was Quinn's doing or not, she wasn't at school for the next week.

"I apologize, Mr. Schuester, but I have neither the time, nor the inclination to bring Quinn's school work to her."

" _Really_ , Rachel?" Mr. Schuester shot back. Rachel wanted to ask him the same thing about the tweed sweater-vest he had on that day. "You can't help out one of your friends? Santana went through a lot of work getting Quinn's schoolwork ̶"

"So, why is it that Santana can't deliver it herself? I am fairly certain she would prefer that to me delivering it," Rachel tried. Her shrill tone undoubtedly gave away her grasping at straws excuse. Plus, no one else was in the choir room to jump in and defend her. Perhaps offer their services. Nothing.

"Rachel, to be honest," Mr. Schue began, dropping the stack of papers onto the piano lid, "I think you're the only person who can get Quinn back into glee club. You two have always been really good with each other in that respect. You're good at pushing and pulling enough to bring the other back to their senses, but I suppose that comes from the bit of rivalry you've always shared." Rachel snorted. "I understand that Quinn seems a bit…unapproachable at the moment, but this is when she needs us the most! Quinn needs a friend, Rachel, and I think you're the only person who she'll let fill those shoes. She needs glee club and I think that starts with you." Rachel rolled her eyes. "Besides, you're the team captain, and are you really about to let one of our teammates sink without even trying to help her?" 

Rachel's eyes suddenly hardened and she lifted her chin at the challenge. Was she really so easy that breaking out the "captain" title would make her cave? It appeared so. Rachel's glare should have made that hideous sweater-vest burst into flames as she swiped the stack of papers off the piano lid and stormed out of the choir room. 

\-------------------------------------

"Caterpillar."

"Are disgusting creatures," Rachel deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. "Is there one on me?" Rachel glanced down at herself, taking in her red pea coat and trying to find the offending insect.

"I'm trying out nicknames."

"What's wrong with my actual name?" Rachel was about to push past Q and just head inside, but she beat her to the punch and joined Rachel on the porch, shutting the door behind her. 

"It sucks," Q stated blandly. Her cigarette hung from her bottom lip while she took the stack of papers from Rachel's hands. Rachel eyed Q with deep judgment and a set jaw. It occurred somewhere in the back of her mind that she already knew the difference between Quinn and her other personality. Whether that was from how well she felt she knew Quinn or not, Rachel couldn't tell. Q's eyes agilely lifted and caught Rachel's before she even had a chance to think about escape. "Why are you staring at me like that?" 

Rachel's eyes widened almost inconceivably. "I…wasn't." 

Q smoothly raised an eyebrow and let out a laugh from somewhere in her throat. "You're an odd one, aren't you? Do you want some tea?" 

Rachel felt like she had just received whiplash from the sudden change of topic. "Uhm, no thank you. I only drink tea before bed or five hours before a big performance," Rachel answered. It suddenly dawned on her that her hands had been empty for the few moments since Q had taken the papers and they now felt like they needed a safe place to rest, so she stuffed them into her jacket pockets. 

"That's good because I don't have, nor do I like, tea," Q commented flatly. Rachel's forehead creased dramatically in confusion as she studied Q. It was clear this girl was not dealing with a full deck of cards. What trauma had Quinn endured to make her this way? What had happened to her? This new personality, this Q, was an enigma. "You're staring at me again." 

"Are you going to light that cigarette or just leave it there? Also, if you don't have any questions about your schoolwork then I'd just as soon leave," Rachel said as she shivered against the cold evening wind. 

"Tell me, Caterpillar, why is it that you brought me Quinn's homework when Quinn asked Santana to?" Q questioned, folding the papers under her arm and using her now free hands to light said cigarette. As if Rachel bringing it up had been enough of an enticement. 

Rachel scrunched her nose up and closed her eyes as the smoke from Q's exhale dissolved against her face. "Mr. Schue asked me to because Santana was otherwise preoccupied," she responded. "And to be honest, I expected to find Quinn, not you." 

Q hummed low in her throat. Her head dropped back against her front door and pink bangs fell into her eyes. Her fingers absently flicked away the excess ash on her cigarette as she smiled up at the cloudy sky. "Quinn was otherwise preoccupied." 

"So I see," Rachel mumbled. She took a step backwards to leave. Q disturbed her in two very distinct ways. One: she was so unlike Quinn but still such a part of her that it seemed she was a contradiction of herself. And two: well, two was a different story altogether. Two was that Rachel was fascinated by this new Quinn. This Quinn Version 2 that was a complicated conundrum. Santana had been so adamant about Rachel staying away from her, and Rachel had been inclined to agree after her first run-in. But the person blowing smoke rings into the air wasn't scary as long as Rachel acknowledged that she wasn't Quinn. And Rachel wholeheartedly acknowledged that. 

"Can you give Quinn a message for me?" Rachel suddenly asked. 

Q rolled her eyes. Rachel took her silence as a "yes" and hoped she was like Quinn in that regard. "Can you please make sure she gets her homework unharmed and that when she comes back around to text me and let me know she got it?" 

Q lifted her head from the door and brushed her bangs from her eyes. A small smile spread over Rachel's lips as she saw the surprise Q displayed. It was a test, and she probably knew that, but it was a test that was giving Q the benefit of the doubt. Rachel wanted to see just how much of a delinquent this Q was, and she wanted to see if this version of Quinn held the same soft spot for Rachel that the real one did. Does. Does.

Of course Rachel knew about that.

"Sure," Q drawled, flicking some ash off her cigarette again. She licked her lips and her eyes darted down to Rachel's retreating form as she watched her walk towards her car. "Oh, Caterpillar, one more thing," she called out. Rachel turned with an inquisitive look, and Q smiled. "Don't forget, I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore, I'm mad, but don't let that intimidate you." 

As if that made perfect sense ̶and Rachel had a hefty suspicion that it made perfect sense to Q ̶said girl dropped her still-lit cigarette onto her porch. Rachel was still watching her as she crushed it under her boot and headed back inside with Quinn's homework still tucked under her arm. 

\-------------------------------

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Santana snapped, pressing Rachel up against her locker. Rachel's book dropped from her hand and her lips moved wordlessly as she stared back into her eyes. "You went and took Quinn her homework! I told you to stay away from her!" 

"What the hell is going on?" Finn asked. He appeared out of nowhere, right when Rachel needed him to, for the first time in forever. Santana immediately took a step back but her eyes stayed on Rachel. 

"That seems to be the question of the hour," Rachel mumbled. With hesitancy, she dropped down and picked up her history book. The hands that held it shook as she straightened and met Santana's eyes, which were on her. Rachel's eyes then glanced at Finn, whose eyes were on Santana. Then she caught a snatch of yellow from behind Santana and turned to see Quinn standing across the hall. Hers and Rachel's eyes met for a moment. It was enough to let Rachel know that it was Quinn. That Cheshire cat grin was nowhere to be found. 

"I told you to stay away from her," Santana seethed. Her eyebrow arched dangerously high when she took notice that Rachel wasn't paying attention to her. 

Finn's eyes snapped to Rachel and the cob-webbed covered light bulb lit up behind his eyes. "This is about Quinn, isn't it?" 

When Rachel looked back over Santana's shoulder, Quinn was gone. 

"I told you to mind your own business this time, Rachel," Finn snapped, and suddenly her knight in shining armor had pressed his sword against her throat. 

The noose Santana had around Rachel's neck tightened as she took half a step closer. "She will hurt you," Santana bit out. "She will burn you. She will find you and she will rip you apart. It will be slow and it won't just be once. She is not a joke or a charity case. She is a fucking time bomb." It was almost rhythmic how Santana was explaining what Q would do to Rachel. She never missed a beat as Rachel's heart kept time by hammering in her chest. 

"Santana," Finn started, and to his credit he looked appalled. "Quinn would never do that. Yeah, sure, she's got some crazy in her but I mean, you and Rachel do too and you wouldn't do that. I mean it though, Rach, you gotta stay away from Quinn." 

Santana's eyes bore through Rachel as she stared her down. Rachel stared right back, but her gaze was anything but confident. Finn was just background noise; static against the horror movie going on in the hallway. If anything, it made Rachel want to prove Santana wrong. 

"So, what then? We all leave her alone and let her kill herself? We may just be teenagers, Santana, but I know well enough that when a friend needs me I don't fall back onto self-preservation and let them destroy themselves!" 

"Since when doesn't Rachel Berry fall back on self-preservation?" Santana snapped. Finn's eyes widened and he took a step back. "I was under the impression that self-preservation was what kept the hair on your chest." 

"And maybe your constant theory of self-preservation is why you're so alone," Rachel bit out. She straightened up and allowed herself to lose some composure when she saw that she had cut Santana with her words. "Maybe that's why you couldn't stop what happened to Quinn. Maybe you were too wrapped up in yourself and hiding yourself away in your **closet** to notice that your best friend needed you, and still needs you." 

The sound of Santana's palm striking Rachel's cheek echoed off the lockers and caused a group of freshmen to gasp. Through her stinging jaw and the tears in her eyes, Rachel knew she deserved that. Oh, she deserved that one. 

Rachel's right eye was closed tightly and she was trying to work her jaw when she felt Santana enter her personal space again. "This is why I don't give a shit about people," Santana hissed out. Rachel heard Finn mumble something, but the ringing in her ears was drowning out most of everything else, and the guilt in her chest was making it difficult to breathe. 

Finn put his hand onto her shoulder, and Rachel was grateful for the balance it brought her. "Your cheek is all red," he declared. Rachel rolled her eyes, which hurt. "You kinda deserved that though." 

She rubbed her jaw and her glance dropped and focused on Finn's shuffling feet. It took a few months of Rachel dating Finn to realize that was one of his nervous ticks. One of his many. She was also choosing to ignore Finn's remark about her deserving that. One of the many things Finn said that Rachel chose to ignore. 

She was sensing a pattern there. 

A pair of worn, brown wedges suddenly stepped into her view. Rachel's hand dropped from rubbing her jaw and Finn's hand dropped from her shoulder. His shoes left her vision and Quinn's took a step closer to her. "I believe it's time we have a little talk," Quinn said, her voice distinctly peaceful. There was no malice or sarcasm behind it. Nothing to even hint that an angry Q lived inside of her mind. 

Rachel raised her head and saw Quinn had dipped her chin to try and catch her eyes. Quinn winced and bit her lip as soon as she saw Rachel's red cheek. "Santana's slap is a bitch," she sympathized, offering Rachel a small smile that Rachel returned. "Trust me, I know. Do you think you can skip glee practice today and come with me?" 

"Rachel, no," Finn said in a low, urgent voice. He tugged on her arm and pulled her away from Quinn. "You can't miss glee and you can't go off with her…even if she does look more normal today." 

"Thanks, I got dressed all by myself," Quinn said from behind them. 

Rachel bit her lip to fight off a laugh before regretting the action that brought more pain. When she looked up at Finn she wondered how he managed to frown so deeply. Did he always do that? Patterns. "I'll be fine, Finn," Rachel assured him. She wasn't sure if he said anything past that, or if his glare darkened any as she looked away. Rachel turned to pick up her backpack and then followed Quinn down the hallway with no hesitation. It was Quinn. Quinn was safety, and Rachel trusted her. 

\-------------------------

"I'm going completely on the assumption that you know everything," Quinn started off with. There was no use beating around the bush. Rachel had met Q, Rachel was suddenly closer with Santana, and there was something different about the way she was looking at her. That's not to say that Rachel hadn't always looked at Quinn differently than she looked at anyone and everyone else. It's just that now Rachel was looking at Quinn like she was glad that it was Quinn. Like she was almost waiting for someone else, and Quinn hated that. But Quinn didn't hate the relief she saw in those brown eyes when they realized she was still Quinn. 

Rachel glanced over the middle console of Quinn's red Volkswagen Beetle. The image of Q driving this car made Rachel want to laugh, but the look on Quinn's face stopped her. Quinn looked so exhausted, so run-down and yet somehow still so vibrant. It was Quinn in control, and that brought a certain aura of beauty to her complexion that Q could never achieve. Quinn knew that. 

"I do know," Rachel admitted. "I'm not sure if I know everything, but I'm confident in saying that I know quite a bit. I met Q. I must say that I detest how she calls me Caterpillar." 

Quinn snickered. "Sounds like something she would say. Did you ask her why?" 

_Says the one who created man-hands._

Quinn briefly closed her eyes. Rachel noticed. "Are you all right, Quinn? You look like you're in pain." 

"She talks to me," Quinn said, opening her eyes wide and shaking her hair out. Her somewhat girly outfit that day contrasted her messy, pink hair. That annoyed Q and Quinn loved it. Quinn loved feeling in control. Completely in control. Those days were rare. 

"She speaks to you as a voice inside your head?" Rachel questioned. Curiosity was written plainly across her face, but Quinn knew Rachel was more frightened by this situation than curious. She had to be. Everyone else was. Quinn was alone now, more or less, because everyone was too scared of her to help her. The last thing she wanted to do was scare Rachel away. She and Rachel had this relationship that consisted of them not having a relationship, but relying heavily on each other. They came to each other when they needed someone the most and then would never speak of it again. This was one of those times. Quinn needed Rachel, and Rachel seemed willing to help. Like always. Always following Quinn when she needed her to. 

"Yes," Quinn answered. "She does." 

_Tell her I say hi._

"Usually her speaking in my mind is what leads to my migraines," Quinn explained. She maneuvered her car out of the school parking lot and towards Breadstix. If Rachel questioned her choice of direction, she said nothing. One glance at her showed Quinn that she had Rachel's complete attention. 

"When I get my migraines I'm forced to take my medications," she went on. Quinn realized her black nail polish was chipping as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. She also realized the last time she had painted her nails, they'd been pink. "When I take my migraine medicine I get knocked out. When I get knocked out ̶" 

"Q comes out," Rachel finished for her. Quinn kept her eyes forward and stayed quiet. She knew Rachel would speak again after she'd processed this new piece of information. God knew Rachel wouldn't take long before speaking again. She didn't have it in her. 

"So, you're not actually conscious at all when your alter takes control," Rachel reasoned. 

"No." 

"You don't remember anything from that? Do you dream? Perhaps in your dreams you ̶" 

"No." Quinn pulled into a parking spot and shut off the car. "I remember nothing. I don't dream. I just black out and then wake up." 

"So, it's not like Fight Club then?" 

Quinn paused while putting her purse over her shoulder. "Excuse me?" 

Rachel opened and closed her mouth before pursing her lips together. "I just mean that…in current pop culture, Fight Club is really the only thing that deals with this disorder in the way you experienced it," Rachel rambled on as she and Quinn fell into step together. Quinn looked at Rachel with an unreadable expression, and refrained from commenting until they were seated across from each other at a booth. 

"This isn't Fight Club, Rachel," Quinn said, her voice low as they were handed menus. "This is a real thing. Well, at least I think that it is…" 

"What I've seen from the extensive research that I've done ̶don't look at me like that, Quinn ̶is that this disorder, Dissociative Identity, is incredibly controversial within the psychology community. Many people believe that it doesn't exist, and if it does, that it's developed at an early age," Rachel went on to explain, "But your case appears different. As much as I hate bringing it up again, it appears more similar to Fight Club in that you developed it after a traumatic event." 

Quinn winced. It was triggering for her to even speak about what happened over the summer. But Rachel was right, and she had to give her that. "I didn't want to involve you," Quinn whispered. Her eyes lifted off the menu and met Rachel's. "Nobody knows how to help me. If they knew what she was capable of then they wouldn't even let me go to school. I-I hate it," Quinn said empathetically, continuing, "Every second of every day is spent on just trying to keep control. I hear her in my head and I can't stop her. The doctors…they gave me some medicines to take, that you delivered once, but it doesn't help everything. It doesn't stop." Quinn lightly cleared her throat and dropped her now bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. She didn't want Rachel of all people seeing her like this. However, it usually was Rachel, of all people, being the only one to see Quinn in that state. To see her so vulnerable. 

"Not that I'm complaining," Rachel started, cocking her head to the side to try and catch Quinn's eyes, "but why are you telling me this? Why me?" 

Quinn's hazel eyes glazed over in thought, and a small, bitter smile appeared on her face. "Because I needed someone, and you were there. You came to me a few weeks ago and told me you were there for me whenever I was ready. I don't know if I'm ready but…I need someone." 

Rachel immediately nodded in understanding. "Of course, Quinn. I'm always here for you." 

Quinn's chest tightened, and she returned Rachel's nods with one of her own. "I apologize in advance for what I say or do when I'm not really here. Days like these are rare, you know?" 

"I understand," Rachel said, her eyes honest. "But there's just one thing that I ask." Quinn's eyebrow arched, and Rachel took that as her green-light to go ahead. "Buy some Nicotine gum to use around me instead of smoking, because Q always blows her smoke in my face and I looked up the effects of second-hand smoke and let me tell you, Quinn, they are not pleasant." 

Quinn stared at Rachel for a moment before she let out a laugh. It was music to Rachel's ears, and she found herself smiling widely despite the fact that Quinn was laughing at her serious predicament. However, if that's what it took to make Quinn laugh and smile, then so be it. And maybe that's what Rachel was really doing, anyway. Just needing to make Quinn smile.

"I'll see what I can do, Rachel."

Having Rachel on her side made Quinn feel like she had a real ally. A real friend. As long as Rachel stayed away from Q as much as possible, didn’t try to interrogate or question the psychopath, then Quinn didn’t have to worry. Besides, she knew Rachel was smart enough to know that curiosity killed the cat and Q was like a lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think of the story so far, will ya? Not sure how many stories like this one are out there, so it would be nice to know if you guys are digging it :)


	3. No Time to Say Hello, Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything is just a copy of a copy in your life anyway, how do you know if you've fallen down the rabbit hole or are just merely dreaming? Rachel wonders if Quinn knows what's going on inside of her own head, and whether or not she can pull her out from underneath the mad hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! Life got hectic and crazy but here you go. Feel free to berate me for making you guys wait lol.

Two weeks together, that's all it took. Two weeks for Rachel to fall in love with Quinn.

Yeah, all right. That was actually quite the boldfaced lie. It did however take Rachel exactly one month (give or take a few days) to realize the crush she had previously harbored for Quinn was still quite intact despite Quinn's illness. Disease. Condition. Disorder? It took her forcing Quinn to watch Dear John with her- and Quinn forcing herself not to crack up at the ridiculous, well, _everything_ -to realize Quinn really was still Quinn. It should have been noted that Rachel had many epiphanies that made her realize Quinn was still Quinn, but that one was most notable because it was most recent. However, there were times when Quinn would crash on the Berry couch with a migraine, and Rachel would come down hours later to find Q there. Not that Rachel was dating Quinn, but she felt like every time she stumbled upon Q when she expected Quinn that she was somehow cheating on Quinn.  As difficult as those times were for Rachel, she still preferred Quinn staying at her residence as opposed to her own. Quinn stayed at the Berry residence quite a bit; so much so that Rachel’s father’s had added Quinn's name to the chore wheel.

It was over the course of splitting her time between Q and Quinn that Rachel came to know both girls amazingly well. Granted, she had no idea how to help Quinn, but Rachel just assumed by "help" Quinn meant she needed a friend. Quinn would always find a friend in Rachel Berry. And maybe more, but those were waters that even Rachel was not bold enough to tread just yet. Surprisingly enough, Finn had broken it off with her after finding out she'd gone " _behind his back_ " and involved herself in Quinn's personal life. After Rachel told him that she was just doing what he was too cowardly to do, that had been that, and Rachel hadn't looked back. Certainly not when she had a new future to look toward. A future involving a Quinn Fabray that would gaze at Rachel when she did not think Rachel was looking. Rachel knew the signs well because she did the same with Quinn. She had been doing the same with Quinn since the then head-cheerleader had joined glee club. But that was neither here nor there. Or anywhere, anymore.

Rachel **had** made time to apologize to Santana, however. Multiple times. After the 9 th gift basket, Rachel caught on that Santana had already forgiven her for the hallway incident and was just indulging in the packs of homemade snacks that Rachel included in each basket.

\----------------------------------------

"You know," Q drawled, tipping the excess ash from her cigarette into the ashtray Rachel had purchased for her dining room table, "I continuously feel like you're just biding time before dear Quinn comes back."

Rachel looked up from the fanned out cards she held in her hands. Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What do you mean?"

Q guffawed. Rachel was so used to her by now. She figured she knew exactly how to tread the fine line between saneness and insanity that flowed beneath Q's skin. "We're sitting across from each other playing go-fish. This is by far the stupidest tea party I've been to in all my life. Also, you keep checking your clock. Dear Caterpillar, Alice won't be coming out of that rabbit hole anytime soon."

Rachel's jaw set and she set her cards face-down. "So what do _you_ propose we do, then, if not play a rousing game of cards?"

Q's eyebrow arched and she laid her cards down as well. Her cigarette was burning down but Rachel didn't feel the need to point that out. Undoubtedly, she already knew. Rachel hated how much smoke the cigarette let off when it hit the filter, and Barbra help Q if the smoke hurt Rachel's voice. "You could read me a story," Q suggested.

Rachel actually laughed, yet she immediately regretted it when she saw that familiar hardness set in over Q's eyes. "I apologize; I just don't understand why you would want me to do that since you tend to _constantly_ complain about my voice. Or, should I say, the tone of my voice, the pitch, the apparent masculine quality-"

"If I'm going to complain about anything, it would be the quantity of words you choose to use in any given situation," Q snapped, grinning. "However, I have an idea."

Rachel immediately regretted this decision. She should have known better than to give Q free reign of their While-Quinn-Is-Sleeping activities. Her grimace only made Q laugh, though. Her laugh wasn't musical like Quinn's was; Q's laugh was throaty, and it always sounded like it was hiding a terrifying thought.

Rachel didn't yet know how to get Quinn back. It wasn't like some trick where she could snap her fingers or ring a bell. This was a disease that not even professional psychologists could agree upon, and despite Rachel Berry's impressive intelligence, she had to agree with them. Agree to disagree about everything that dealt with Dissociative Identity Disorder, that was.

"Your dads won't be home for another, what, five hours?" Q asked while gesturing at the watch Rachel now wore on her wrist. Tick, tick. "Right, Rabbit?"

Rabbit. Caterpillar. Did Rachel really have a substantial amount of excess hair that she was somehow missing during her daily grooming practices? Grudgingly, and accompanied by a roll of her eyes, she checked her watch. "I don't know why you asked me when you knew you were right," she stated.

"I like hearing it," Q breezed absently. Her eyes were roaming the kitchen, and Rachel started emitting an uneasy sound.

"What say you bring a little insanity to this tea party?"

It took every ounce of control in Rachel's being to refrain from telling Q that she brought that every time she entered a room. Instead, her eyes hardened. "I don't like the sound of this. If you're thinking of raiding my fathers' alcohol cabinet I must beg you to not."

Q turned her exasperated eyes onto Rachel and slowly arched an eyebrow. Rachel gulped but held her ground. It was quite the feat since Q was in her personal space and smelling of cigarette smoke and Quinn's perfume. The doorbell ringing at that moment was exactly the deus-ex-machina that Rachel had been silently praying for. "Oh, I'll get it!"

When Rachel opened the door and Kurt stepped in, however, her eyes widened and she suddenly wished she were a better liar. If there were one thing Rachel Berry could not do well, it was lie. The entirety of the glee club still knew nothing about Quinn's condition, and Q did nothing to help that cause. "I see Quinn is here," Kurt said, forcing a tight-lipped smile while remaining in the doorway. 

Rachel looked over her shoulder and saw Q leaning against the hallway wall, a fresh cigarette between her fingers. She tossed Kurt—or maybe Rachel—a wink. Perhaps a presentation on the dangers of chain-smoking would be helpful. "Hello there, Kurt. You look like you were hoping you wouldn't find me here," Q greeted.

"Hello, Quinn," Kurt shot back with no hesitation. "I see you're still not bathing. Rachel, I thought we were supposed to have a study date at this time."

Rachel ran a hand through her hair, frazzled. "We were?"

"That's what Santana told me. She said you were hosting a small soiree for some of the Gleeks for our Spanish test tomorrow. Or should I say 'manana'," Kurt mumbled, stepping past Rachel since he quite rudely hadn't been invited in.

"Gleeks?" Rachel bit out, quickly turning around, "As in plural?"

"As in all of those people that I've been trying to avoid?" Q offered blandly. She and Kurt were currently in the process of sizing each other up. If the situation weren't so dire, Rachel would have found it funny that Kurt had no idea that he wasn't dealing with Quinn.  Funny and bizarre. A small shake of her head coupled with furrowed brows had Rachel wondering when she’d become so accustomed to this odd situation.

"If you don't mind me asking," Kurt started, arms folded over his chest, "what in the name of all that is fashion happened to you, Quinn?"

Q's expression darkened and Rachel quickly stepped in. "Please, no hostility in the Berry household. This is a place of serenity and love. Kurt, Q, please treat each other with respect."

"Oh, I respect her just fine. I respect her decision to wear a plaid shirt with at least eight visible holes in it and boots that haven't been washed _ever_. Also, Rachel, since when are you two using nicknames for each other?"

"Quinn doesn't even take Spanish. Why am I sticking around?"

Kurt dropped his leather bag onto the dining room table, sneered at the ashtray, and gave Q a quizzical look. "Well, Kurt is wondering the exact same thing, since we're on the subject."

"We're not on the subject," Rachel snapped, pointing a firm finger at the both of them. "Just.... Just sit down! Stay. I will be right back." Q raised an eyebrow at her and stayed standing. Kurt mirrored Q's expression. Rachel gave up and headed into the living room with her cell phone pressed to her ear. Santana Lopez was going to get an ear-full for this little stunt. 

\---------------------------

It turned out that Santana Lopez's _voicemail_ got quite the ear-full. Fifteen minutes worth, actually, before it cut Rachel off. By that time Blaine, Tina, Mike, and Puck had shown up. Rachel was beginning to wonder if Santana had passed out flyers for this little "soiree" from hell.

"I'm just leveling with you here, Q. You look like a fucking moron. I mean you're still sorta hot enough that I'm not ashamed of boning you, but your crazy really isn't attractive anymore," Puck calmly explained. He had stolen and lit one of Q's cigarettes, and his casual stance of leaning against the wall lead Rachel to believe he had no idea of whom he was dealing with.

Q was staring daggers into him. She was also itching dangerously close to the set of kitchen knives that Rachel's dad prided himself in.

"So, Quinn, it's nice to see you around!" Tina clearly had good intentions, but they backfired as Rachel predicted.

It was like sitting in the trenches of war and watching your men run into the battlefield completely unarmed. "I'm not Quinn," Q bit out, turning her angry eyes onto Tina. Mike put a protective arm around his girlfriend. "I'm Q. Quinn isn't here right now but I'm sure she'd love it if you left her a message, Tweedledee."

The air in the room was heavy, and Rachel just pictured Tina being blown up by the enemy tank. Clearly, Mike was next, and Rachel actually winced when he opened his mouth. "I don't know what your problem is, but you better back-off of Tina. She's been nothing but a friend to you, Quinn. We all have."

"When was that exactly, Tweedledum?" Q bit out, her tone turning aggressive. Rachel hadn't seen her like this in a while and it was disturbing to see again. Really disturbing. "When were you Quinn's friend? When she was all alone this summer? When no one tried to call her? How about when her daddy came home drunk and angry from work and—"

Rachel needed to kamikaze it. She needed to dive onto the grenade before Q blew herself, and more importantly Quinn, up. "I think it's time to take this little party into the basement!" Rachel tried to keep her voice as cheerful as possible. Slowly everyone calmed, and some even seemed relieved by her intervention. Q looked torn between livid and grateful. Judging by the way her eyes were burning into Rachel's, she guessed livid was weighing out more. "You all go on. I'll be down in a minute with refreshments. I hope someone brought flash-cards!"

“Oh, I did!" Blaine said, rather proud of himself. Kurt just laid a hand on his shoulder and guided his boyfriend out of the room. He threw one last bewildered look back at Rachel before he and the rest of the group were out of sight.

"Out of sight, out of mind.” It was as if the storm had passed. Q looked at Rachel with such an eerily calm expression that Rachel suddenly wished someone had stayed upstairs with her.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

"Check your watch again, little Rabbit."

" _You need to leave_."

An eerie silence fell over them both. "You really want me to leave?"

Rachel cleared her throat and raised her chin. "You can't seem to behave around Quinn's friends so, yes, I need you to leave. You know as well as I do that we cannot have this secret getting out," she stated. Her voice was a lot calmer than how she was actually feeling. It was not one of Rachel's favorite activities to stand up to Q or go against her in any way. But she was doing this for Quinn, and that should have made it easier to cope with seeing, what she thought, was the sadness in Q's eyes. Rachel didn't even know Q could feel sadness, but apparently she had been wrong. It mirrored the look on a wild animal's face right before being put down.

"I'm not a fucking secret," Q hissed. Rachel made to take a step back but Q grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. Q didn't hurt her, but her touch burned. It floored Rachel how Q's touch was like acid, whereas Quinn's touch was like…well, it certainly wasn't like acid. "I'm sick of playing second best to Alice over here," Q bit out, "and I refuse to continue doing so. I'm done dealing with that little **priss**."

Rachel was completely taken back. She knew quite well that Q held animosity towards Quinn—she assumed that's how this disorder worked in a way—but she had no idea to what extent. It scared her. "I can't believe you just said that," Rachel said.

"Can't you?" Q asked, something akin to pity in her voice. For a moment, her eyes went as soft as Quinn's did, and it threw Rachel off. "Try again."

Rachel laughed. "That was a figure of speech, Q. I'm not being sincere—"

"Well maybe you should try that sometime," Q interrupted, "Quinn would appreciate it."

"And what do you mean by that?" Rachel asked, suddenly guarded. "Did she say something to you? Can…she even do that?"

Q's anger seemed to have dissipated. A smile replaced her scowl and she suddenly released Rachel's wrist to get her leather jacket off the back of her vacated chair. "See you around, Rabbit. I'll give Quinn your love."

\-----------------------

"What did she do to you?" Quinn shouted.

Rachel looked up from her notebook and immediately took a sharp breath. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she quickly scrambled up to meet Quinn halfway across her room. "Nothing," she said, holding up her hands in a gesture to calm Quinn down. "Really. I'm okay."

"Bullshit," Quinn called. Her jaw was set and Rachel wondered how she'd found out. "Santana told me about it. She said that when everyone left that study session that night you _weren't_ okay. Kurt told Santana that he had a run in with me and—"

"Why is everyone going to Santana, anyway?"

"—and he said I was not pleasant. I can imagine as much. Rachel, what happened after everyone left? I know she came back."

Rachel groaned and dropped onto the edge of her bed. It's not as if she could lie to Quinn. Q _had_ come back after everyone had left, and she had come back angry. Rachel had never seen her so angry. To be honest, she hadn't known what had set Q off that night. Maybe it was what she'd said before she'd made Q leave. Still, her car's busted taillights were proof enough that something bad was going on inside Q's head. Well, inside Quinn's head. Something sinister that Rachel was slowly losing grasp of. She had befriended Q, ultimately she hadn't been able to not, but maybe that hadn't been the best idea.

"Rachel, tell me what she did." Quinn seethed.

"It's not important, Quinn! Why are you making a big deal out of this? You know how moody Q is, so how do you expect me to know what set her off?"

"So you admit that she was set off by something?"

"Quinn, I—"

“Tell me the **truth** , Rachel."

"God, you sound _just_ like her when you scream at me like this!" Rachel cried out. Her voice came out far shriller than anticipated by both parties in the argument.

Quinn's face broke, and Rachel knew her words were like a knife to her heart. She hadn't meant to say it, but she'd cracked under the stress of her interrogation. If there were one thing Rachel strove to do in her relationship with both girls, it was to never, ever compare the two. Comparisons killed.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" Quinn quietly asked. True to Fabray fashion, she was going to ignore what Rachel said. This was not a conversation either of them wanted to be having.

"You weren't there," Rachel responded just as quietly. "I don't know what angered her this time, Quinn. I told her to leave because I didn't want her letting your secret out. That made her mad initially but then she was fine when she left! Her mood swings are palpable, I swear."

"I was there, damn it," Quinn swore, clenching her fist. Rachel's eyes lifted from her piano key rug to carefully study Quinn. Her hair was in complete disarray and from the look of her outfit, Quinn had come over to the Berry house as soon as she had woken up. Quinn looked so broken. Her soft eyes turned away from Rachel so she wouldn't see her tears.

"Come here, Quinn," she whispered, patting the space next to her on her bed. Quinn's shoulders slumped. She dropped down onto the bed next to Rachel; a jingle was heard from the chains on her boots as she sat, and that was accompanied by the quiet sobs as Quinn broke down. Rachel closed her eyes and sighed. Quinn slumped sideways and her head landed in Rachel's lap. She ran her fingers through Quinn's hair, absently working out the knots and trying to soothe her.

"I can't keep doing this," Quinn sobbed. "I just want her gone. I just want to be me again. I don't want to be broken anymore."

"You are you," Rachel said quietly, "You're still Quinn. You're still the Quinn I know. And I wouldn't say you're...broken, per se."

"Fifty percent of the time," Quinn whispered. "The other half of the time I'm gone. I'm asleep and my body is on autopilot and I have no control over anything."

"I think most everyone is in the same boat," Rachel stated. "Your case is just a little bit more extreme."

Quinn just shook her head and brought a hand up to clench at the pajama bottoms Rachel had on. There was no possible way Rachel could understand Quinn's agony. The grip she had was tight, tight enough that Rachel felt Quinn's black fingernails on her knee. But it didn't scare her. Not the way Q's grip had when she'd had a hold of Rachel's wrist. What floored Rachel the most was that it was the same hand. The same hand that could damage Rachel was the same hand that Rachel knew would never harm her in any way. They really were in deep trouble. More trouble than any seventeen and eighteen year old should ever have to be in.

\---------------------------------

Quinn's hair was soft against Rachel's fingers. It had become unruly since the dye job—the pink had given it attitude. It smelled clean, and the shampoo Quinn used was a distinct smell. Rachel knew it well; so well that it felt like home for her, but she couldn't place it. Maybe she deserved that little piece of frustration, though. After all, she was creepily losing herself in thoughts of Quinn's hair as Quinn slept.

"And you wonder why Finn said you were creepy."

Rachel smile genially. "Says the one with the disorder." Rachel knew it was Quinn the moment she hear her laugh.

"Is it Saturday? My mom is going to kill me for not coming home," Quinn stated with a groan.

Rachel's hand lifted from her hair as Quinn's head lifted off Rachel's pillow. "Your phone didn't go off. Perhaps she doesn't even know you're gone?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." Quinn fumbled with her phone, and Rachel watched her eyebrow slowly arch. "Nothing. I can't believe it."

Rachel's dark eyebrows knitted together in thought. Why would her mother not call? How uncaring was she? "Regardless, I'm glad you're awake now and apparently staying over for longer."

"I am?"

"Yes, Quinn. There is something of dire importance that we must tend to together before Q comes around."

"There is?"

"Quinn, please. Keep up."

\------------------------

"What about electroconvulsive therapy?" Rachel asked. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard of her laptop and she craned her neck to see Quinn's shocked expression.

"Are you seriously suggesting I get electroshock therapy? Is that even still _legal_ , Rachel?"

"I'm sure we could find a place," Rachel said, waving Quinn off and turning back to the monitor. Perhaps that therapy would have an adverse effect, though. Rachel scratched it off her mental list and continued perusing Google.

Quinn laughed behind her. Her head dropped against Rachel's headboard and her eyes studied Rachel's back. "Rachel," Quinn said calmly. Her voice was gruff, and as always, it caught Rachel's attention. All Quinn had to do was raise an eyebrow and Rachel got up and came over to her with a sigh.

"I'm just trying to help you, Quinn."

"I know. Don't think I don't appreciate it, Rachel," Quinn started, and then she laughed. It wasn't a humorless, laugh, but it was sad. "Do you really think you'll be able to find a cure for me on Google? I've been to countless doctors and gotten countless opinions. To be honest, I should be locked up in the county asylum. My mom vouched for me though. I mean, she really went to bat for me. But I'm still broken beyond repair and—"

"No you're not, Quinn."

" _Yes_ I am, Rachel. I just have to learn to live with this, somehow. I have to learn how to be better without really getting better," Quinn finished.

Rachel watched her run her fingers through her bright hair. How had she even gotten it that color? Oh, she was digressing again. "Why pink?" Quinn perked an eyebrow again and Rachel smiled apologetically. "I've just been wondering. I mean, Q doesn't exactly seem like someone who loves pink. It was the first thing I noticed about you when I first saw you again and it's sort of been on my mind ever since."

"The pink was my doing, actually," Quinn explained. Rachel adjusted herself so she was sitting comfortably next to Quinn against her headboard. Her cheek rested against a propped-up pillow as she watched Quinn speak. "It was just a spur of the moment choice in the hair dye aisle of Wal-Mart."

"I don't believe you," Rachel stated plainly. Quinn smiled.

"Don't be nosy, Berry."

"I can't exactly help it."

Quinn looked like she had the perfect insult on the tip of her tongue, but then refrained. Her eyes grew serious and Quinn looked like she was about to deeply regret what she said next: "What color was your prom dress, Rachel?"

\--------------------------------

She loved her. She'd loved her for a long time. It was to the point where Quinn couldn't remember a time before she loved Rachel Berry. Since sophomore year of high school, Quinn couldn't think of anything more terrifying than anyone, especially Rachel, finding out about how she loved her. God, Quinn loved Rachel. But things had changed. Now Quinn wanted to tell Rachel that she loved her. She _wanted_ Rachel to know, to hear it from **her** , and she wanted Rachel to love her back.

But that wasn't what terrified her anymore. What terrified Quinn was her constant wondering of whether or not she wasn't the only one who loved Rachel. Finn obviously wasn't a viable concern anymore, and maybe he never really had been in the first place. But what Quinn felt for Rachel, what made her chest collapse in on itself whenever Rachel was around, was a direct result of the love in her heart. However, it just so happened that Quinn now shared a heart with someone else. Someone that tinted her heart black.

And it terrified Quinn that Q might love Rachel too. It terrified her even more that she had no way of knowing. Q knew Quinn, but Quinn didn't know Q. Her alter hadn't let her in. Quinn was unconscious when Q came out to play, but Q ran rampant in Quinn's mind constantly. 

_I'm flattered that you think of me so much, Alice._

\--------------------

"Rachel, will you turn off the computer and come to bed?" Quinn grumbled. A week had passed since Quinn's breakdown in Rachel's room. Not much had changed except for the suitcase that was now in the corner. Quinn had been invited to stay the weekend at the Berry's since her mother would be out of town. Leroy and Hiram had started to become rather reluctant to host Quinn for so long, considering the rumors floating around town about what Q did at night, but Rachel had been persuasive. Quinn had just been thankful. A weekend away from her mother's constant talks of how she needed to be getting better…about how Quinn _just wasn't getting better_.

As if Quinn didn't know that she wasn't getting better. She could feel Q creeping into every crevice of her mind, scraping at her nerves and toying with her memories. Q was painting the roses of Quinn's mind red, and there was nothing she could do to stop her. She didn't tell Rachel this, though. She didn't want to worry her. 

Quinn hadn't wanted to scare Rachel off, but maybe she should have.


	4. Who in the World Am I? Ah, That's the Great Puzzle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything is just a copy of a copy in your life anyway, how do you know if you've fallen down the rabbit hole or are just merely dreaming? Rachel wonders if Quinn knows what's going on inside of her own head, and whether or not she can pull her out from underneath the mad hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I continue to blame life for making me so late on delivering chapters? Also, my apologies for this being a shorter chapter. But next chapter is the last one so I'm leading up to a big finish! I hope. 
> 
> Trigger warning for a murder in this chapter. It's vague but obvious.

"You obviously cannot use that ball, Q." Rachel heaved her own yellow bowling ball onto her lap. While she used disinfecting wipes on her fingers, Rachel's eyes lingered on Q. She had on that ripped, black plaid shirt that Rachel was not fond of, and her hair was wild. It was not as if Q looked bad, it was just that she looked so much like Q and not at all like Quinn. Quinn didn't wear her makeup that dark, nor did she leave her hair totally and completely uncombed.

"Stop staring," Q bit out. She side-eyed Rachel to the point where Rachel looked away in discomfort. Then Q grinned. "And as a matter of fact, I can use this ball. I am the pink queen, and I am going to use the pink ball."

Rachel snorted under her breath as she proceeded to disinfect the entire bowling ball. "It's 18 pounds. I'm aware that I'm not yet a bowling expert, but I know enough to know _that_ is too heavy." She chose to ignore the pink queen comment. Q did equal Queen, after all. Rachel just made a mental note to ask Quinn about that when she got back.

When Rachel snapped herself out of her thoughts, Q still hadn't taken her turn. Her arms were cradling the overweight bowling ball, and her eyes were glued to Rachel. Rachel's eyes widened in surprise, and with a little bit of fear. It was never good to have Q's full attention. "May I help you with something?"

Q's dark eyes flickered around the mostly-deserted bowling alley. Then she shook her head in the negative. "Do you realize how much time we've spent together, Caterpillar, while Alice sleeps?"

Rachel subtly dipped her head to one side. "We have spent quite a bit of time together, yes."

"I would even go so far as to say that we've become acquaintances." 

Rachel was in the middle of a small smile when she realized that deserved a frown. "What do you mean 'acquaintances'?" she asked, affronted. Q sat down on the blue plastic chair next to her. She hadn't taken her turn, but neither of them were exactly in a hurry.

When her eyes met Rachel's, she could see that Q's attention and intentions were far beyond a simple conversation in a Lima bowling alley. Rachel's eyes flickered back and forth between Q's. She'd never thought anyone could look into her eyes as soul-searchingly as Quinn could, but then she met Q. "You honestly can't consider us friends."

"And why not?" 

"Because you hate me," Q said through laughter. When she was met with Rachel's confused expression, Q frowned. Her face immediately darkened and she realized she was being too nice to Rachel. That had to be the only explanation as to why she was confused. "I'm Quinn's alter; the superior one that will eventually control her. You, on the other hand, are the girl who just so happens to love **Quinn**. Are you following now, Caterpillar?"

Rachel lifted only her eyes. "You're insane." Her voice was strong enough to make Q falter. Rachel had never spoken so openly about the disorder with Q; not nearly like she did with Quinn. Then Q was hit with a sudden, blinding rage towards this stupid, loser girl who only tolerated her because her other half was Quinn. Always Quinn. It always went back to Quinn, and by association, for some reason, Rachel. When everything boiled down and the storm calmed, it always came back to Quinn and Rachel. The part that enraged Q was there was no room for her in that equation.

Her anger quelled as she looked down into Rachel's furious eyes. Well, at least she had hit a spark there. Making Rachel mad was quite the guilty pleasure for Q. "Keep your temper," Q said absently. Her own temper had been buried back down where it belonged. It wasn't time for that yet. "Insanity, pure and simple. Isn't it beautiful? This, little Rabbit, is why we can never be friends."

Reluctantly, Rachel tore her gaze away.

Gardenias. That was it. That was the smell of Quinn's shampoo. Rachel finally placed it.

 

\---------------------------

 

"Run," Quinn whispered. "Run!" This time Quinn screamed it at the top of her lungs. But the girl couldn't hear her. Only Q could, and Q was ignoring her. Or maybe Q couldn't even hear her. The sound of the mud squishing under her boots was sickening. The constant slap even made Q queasy. She drove her shovel deep into the ground and took a moment to breathe. Without much effort, she pushed Quinn back down to silence her. Q hadn't wanted Quinn to see it. Q hadn't wanted to do it. However, therapy hadn't been going well lately, and all of the anger building inside of their body was overwhelming. Flashbacks of the summer had been haunting her. Her father's hands coming down onto her mother. The harmonic sound her mother's wine glass made as it shattered to a million pieces onto the hardwood floor. The way the knife had glistened under the florescent kitchen lights. The way her mother had looked at her after.

Q was Quinn and Quinn was Q. Q hated Quinn, but she didn't want to make her worse. After all, they were one. So, Q had killed two birds with one stone that night; she'd taken out a lot of the anger boiling in her veins and…. Q shook her head. If she thought too much about it then Quinn would hear who the victim had been. That wasn't relevant anymore.

The low hum of Frank Sinatra's "That's Life" played through the headphones in her ears as she picked the shovel back up and started adding more mud to the grave. It was a shallow grave on the outskirts of town. As Q dropped down onto her knees to use her hands and smooth out the grave, she let out a ragged breath.

"I'm not a monster," she whispered. The sky was beginning to turn light overhead, but she didn't rush herself. This needed to be said. The girl lying in the grave beneath Q's hands deserved to hear this. "I didn't want to do this. I never wanted it to come to this. I tried to make it as painless for you as possible," she added. It had been true. Her knife strokes had been quick, and the girl had barely screamed. Q had caught her completely off guard.

She wasn't sure if it was Quinn coming through, or the fact that she really wasn't the monster Quinn thought she was, but Q teared up. Perhaps that came with the territory of taking someone's life. An actual human. **God**. There hadn't exactly been a guidebook on this.

And to this day, Q couldn't tell you if it had been herself or Quinn who had laid the single pink rose on the wet earth over the grave.

\---------------------------------

 

Quinn woke up in a panic. She immediately looked down at her own hands in horror. There had been a murder. She had committed a murder. Quinn didn't know who, or how, but it had been done. Q had covered her tracks well because when Quinn woke up she had been scrubbed clean and the clothes from the night before were nowhere to be found. She was sleeping peacefully in her bed when her mother came in to wake her up for school.

"Rachel," Quinn whispered under her breath. She needed to get to Rachel. Her hazel eyes were wide as she ran a frantic hand through her hair and fumbled for her phone. Quinn groaned when Rachel's phone went to voicemail. She would just have to catch her at school.

\-----------------------------

 

"Have you seen Rachel?"

Santana's eyes immediately darkened before she remembered she wasn't supposed to care about Rachel. "Nope."

"It's third period and I haven't been able to find her anywhere," Quinn said with desperation tinting her voice. She sounded pathetic enough for Santana to roll her eyes, slam her locker shut, and turn to face her.

"Maybe she's avoiding your crazy ass. Maybe Berry finally wised up enough to dump you because she got tired of spending her dates at the Lima asylum," Santana snapped.

Quinn's eyebrow shot up in perfect sync with her lips parting in shock. "Excuse me? Rachel and I were _never_ dating and-"

"Could've fooled me," Santana mumbled, "But good. Rachel could do better."

"You know what," Quinn bit out, holding up her hands in surrender. "Forget it. I'll find her myself. Thanks for all your wonderful help."

"Brittany! Hey, have you seen-"

"I'm not allowed to talk to you," Brittany said, looking apologetic.

Quinn snapped her mouth shut and closed her eyes tightly. "I just need to know if you've seen Rachel, Britt."

Brittany glanced around the halls in worry before tugging at the hem of her Cheerio's skirt. "I haven't seen her all day. But I usually try to avoid being seen in the same hall as her anyway so, you know."

\-----------------------

 

By lunchtime, Quinn was on the verge of having a panic attack. She was doing everything in her power to not push herself over the edge and end up with a migraine, but she couldn't find Rachel. A million possibilities were running through her head as she flew through the McKinley hallways. Finally, she came face-to-face with Finn.

"What?" he grumbled, pulling his lunch out of his locker.

"Have you seen Rachel?" Quinn asked. Her chest was tight and her voice was full of hope. Until Finn shook his head.

"I'm not her boyfriend anymore, remember? Usually someone just looks for **you** if they want to find her," Finn snapped bitterly. He shut his locker and turned towards the cafeteria.

Quinn, completely distraught, stood alone in the hallway. It wasn't until she turned around and saw Rachel that she started to cry.

"Quinn?" Rachel questioned, worry in her voice. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"You're here," Quinn whispered. She reached out to hug Rachel, but stopped herself. Something about Rachel seemed off. Instead, Quinn took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I-I couldn't find you. I need to talk to you, Rachel. I need you." Quinn's voice cracked from her tears, and Rachel's expression fell.

"Of course, Quinn. I'm right here. What's wrong? It's okay. It's just us in the hallway. You can tell me."

Quinn glanced around nervously before her terrified, tear-filled eyes found Rachel's again. They were completely alone. Quinn was taking comfort from having Rachel in front of her; her heart was finally beating normally again. "I…I think I murdered someone last night," Quinn whispered while never taking her eyes from Rachel's.

Rachel's eyes widened and her eyebrows rose. Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but she didn't. Instead, Rachel stood completely still and processed this information. It was long enough that Quinn noticed Rachel was still wearing the same clothes she had been in the day before, which wasn't like Rachel at all.

When her eyes lifted again, she saw how calm Rachel looked. Rachel was just gazing at her, and it completely calmed Quinn. How Rachel was taking the news so well was beyond Quinn, especially since she was a complete wreck. Still, Rachel reached out and took Quinn's hand. "Come on, Quinn. I know where we need to go."

And Quinn followed Rachel without question.

And in the end, Quinn would follow Rachel into the Hell her mother warned her about before placing a small golden cross necklace against Quinn’s throat.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback would be greatly appreciated so I can get the muse to wrap up the story.


End file.
